


Fried Chicken Romance

by lamentomori



Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Fluff, Food Trucks, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 18:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14338791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamentomori/pseuds/lamentomori
Summary: A quiet street with a small, but busy fried chicken stand that provides delicious food, cold beer, and love.





	Fried Chicken Romance

The corner of the counter by the fan is a coveted spot. For the last year, it’s been occupied most nights by a miserable looking office worker. Over the course of the year, Bushi has learnt a fair amount about the sullen man. He’d wanted to be a baseball player as a child, but he’d screwed up his knees, and ended up doing a job that’s killing him by the second. His suits are ugly, cheap, and he hates wearing them. He dreams of a different life, but is stuck in the same cycle most people are. Naito is sullen, lonely, and the most human contact he gets is from Bushi and the other customers. He thinks that might be true for the majority of his customers.

The summer is the best time of the year for his stand. The customers flock to buy chicken and beer from him. Once the sun goes down, and his regulars show up things at once get busier and quieter. His attention is demanded from the regulars more, but the amount of food and drink they want is significantly less.

“Same as usual.” Naito calls out as a vague greeting, ducking under the curtain. He stops at the counter, and stares. In his normal spot is a person. A strange, young man with a sketchpad. He showed up nearly three hours ago, and claimed Naito’s seat for his own. He’s been through several pages of his book, two orders of chicken, and is still on the same soda he ordered when he arrived. “Who’s that?” Naito jerks his chin in the direction of the drawing man. Bushi shrugs, and starts cooking Naito’s dinner. Naito slumps into a different stool, and drains half of his beer. He shifts on his stool, looking over at the drawing man. “Is he a regular?”

“No.” Bushi slides Naito’s basket of chicken to him. “A new customer.” The other regulars trickle in as they get off work. The stand fills with noise. The regulars all know each other, and are catching up on each other’s day. They’ve known each other for a long time. They’ve become invested in each other’s lives. The young man in the corner, has shifted on his stool, and if Bushi stands in the right spot, he can see what he’s drawing. The picture is an oddly whimsical capturing of the regulars. “Can I have it?” Bushi asks, as he sets a bottle of beer down by his soda. The young man looks up from his drawing. “These are my regulars.” Bushi offers him by way of explanation.

“Sure…I need to finish though.” The young man smiles, and goes back to his work. “Can I have some more thigh?” He glances up at Bushi through his hair. Bushi throws another round of thighs into the fryer.

An hour later, the young man rips the page from his sketchbook, and hands it over to Bushi. He settles his bill, and leaves the stand. Naito spares him a glance, and takes his seat by the fan. Another regular, a tall, handsome man with spiked hair arrives with a loud greeting, and a friendly grin. Bushi gets swept up in listening to tales of Sanada’s day, until he notices Naito unfolding a slip of paper, his eyebrows knit as he studies the scrap of paper. A smile spreads over his lips.

“Your artist has a name, and terrible hand writing.” Naito slides the scarp of paper over to Bushi as he settles his bill. The scrap of paper is from the bottom corner of the sketch he’d given to Bushi. Bushi hadn’t thought much of the missing corner, but he supposes it must have been force of habit that had the young man signing it. Takahashi Hiromu. He’ll try to remember that in case the young man comes back.

The next day, Bushi half expects to see the young artist again, but he doesn’t show up. His regulars comment on the picture, asking where it came from. Several of them recognise themselves in it, and make comments or jokes about it. He’s pleased with it though. He’s pinned it up behind the bar. It feels oddly like a family portrait. The people in it are people he’s known for a long time, people he knows a lot about.

Two days after the Bushi pinned the picture behind the bar, Sanada returns. He gestures to the picture, looking mildly annoyed.

“Where am I?” He sounds amused, despite the annoyed twist to his lips. He sips at the bottle of beer Bushi sets down for him.

“Well, you showed up after the artist left.” Bushi plates up Sanada’s usual order. “Maybe if he comes back you can ask him to draw you.” Sanada laughs at him, and chugs his beer. “How have you been?”

“You know…not too bad.” He shrugs, and rests his chin in his hand. “I missed your chicken.” He takes a bite of his chicken, a grin on his face. “We got a pretty good review online, and invited back to perform again.”

“Oh? Nice.” Bushi gives him as much of a smile as he can whilst taking orders from some non-regulars. “You still haven’t taken the rest of your band here.” Sanada laughs again, his mouth full of chicken. He takes a long drink before speaking.

“I know, I know. I’m not sure I want to share you with them.” He winks at Bushi, and keeps eating. As he’s settling his bill, he hands Bushi a postcard from the city he’d played in. “But, I might take our drummer to come and taste your chicken. I think you’ll like him, he’s got a big appetite.” He smiles at Bushi, and leaves. It takes the next regular a good minute to get his attention, because he’s still stupidly grinning to himself. Sanada is ridiculously handsome. It’s easy to be distracted by him.

“Hello again. Do you mind if I take the corner again?” Three days later, the young man who drew the picture is back. The stand is quiet, as it’s the awkward stage between lunch and dinner. “Your chicken is really good.” He settles himself on the corner stool, and flashes Bushi a charming smile. “Your thighs are definitely the best.”

“Well, that’s because I never skip leg day.” Bushi laughs, and the young man joins in. “So, order of thighs, and?”

“A soda, please.” He pulls a pencil from the spiral of his sketchpad, flips it open, and starts batting the pencil off his bottom lip. “I’ve had no real inspiration lately.” He’s staring at his blank page. “I’ve got this big canvas due by the end of the month, but I’ve no idea what to paint.”

“You’re a painter then?” Bushi sets a basket of chicken thighs down beside him, and a tall glass of melon soda.

“Yeah…usually at least.” He sighs, shaking his head. “I just can’t get anything to come to me, you know?”

“Probably not to be honest.” Bushi shrugs, leaning against the counter. “I’m a cook, not an artist.”

“Cooking is an art.” The young man tilts his head to one side as he regards Bushi. “You make the batter, you chop the chicken, you fry it, it’s an artform making fried chicken this good.”

“If you’re looking to get into my pants, stick to saying nice things about my thighs…” He trails off, wondering if the young man will tell him his name or not. He might know it because of the paper Naito found, but it seems rude to use it without permission.

“Hmm…duly noted.” He scrapes his hair back from his face, a slight pout on his lips. “My name’s Hiromu by the way.”

“Bushi.” Bushi shakes the out-stretched hand, and turns to the customer that’s just poked their head in under the curtain.

That night, Naito once more looks mildly putout that someone has stolen his seat, but this time he sits by Hiromu, and strikes up a conversation. It’s a Friday, a busy night, so Bushi can’t really keep an ear on what they’re talking about, but he’s never heard Naito laugh so much in all the time he’s been coming to the stand.

“This is it?” Sanada and a man Bushi doesn’t know show up a few days later. The new customer looks exactly how Bushi had imagined the drummer for Sanada’s band to look, apart from the incredible rainbow mane of hair. It’s a beautiful surprise.

“It might not look like much, Evil, _but_ it’s the best chicken in the city.” Sanada presses his friend onto a stool, and gives Bushi one of his most charming smiles. “Two orders, please. You want a beer?” His friend glances at the clock on the back wall, and then turns to Sanada with a scandalised face. “What? Day drinking is the best.” Bushi sets one beer down, and a cup of barley tea for Evil.

“Thank you.” For a man named Evil, he’s very polite. Bushi serves him first, keeping half an eye on him as he serves other customers. The drummer seems very pleased with his chicken, finishing long before Sanada. “Bushi-san!” He calls out, a contrite look on his face. “I must apologise, _and_ ask for another portion. I’d doubted Sanada for a while now, but truly you’ve the best thighs in the city.”

“That’s because he doesn’t skip leg day.” Hiromu ducks under the stand curtain, and comments with a laugh. He heads for what has become his spot in the corner. Naito seems to have conceded it to him, but solely on the basis that it lets Naito keep Hiromu’s attention solely on him. Bushi isn’t one to speculate on other people’s relationships, but he’s quite certain that Naito is at least _interested_ in the young artist.

“By the look of things, he doesn’t skip arm day either.” Evil winks at Bushi, and steals a portion of chicken from Sanada’s basket. “One more basket, please.” Hiromu’s started sketching by the time Bushi’s finished cooking for both him and Evil. Sanada is eyeing him with a great deal of interest.

“He’s the one who drew the picture, right?” He jerks his chin towards Hiromu.

“I did.” Hiromu answers, not looking up. “You want me to draw you?” He glances over at Sanada, and flicks to a new page. “It’ll cost you.” He grins, his pencil moving deliberately over the page.

“Hey! I’m not paying you for a shitty street sketch!” Sanada tosses a napkin at him, and Hiromu laughs at him. “I’ll buy you a soda float.” Hiromu nods vaguely, absorbed in his work.

Sanada’s friend, Evil becomes more of a regular than Sanada. He shows up almost every day. He’s charming, and seemingly enjoys making Bushi laugh more than anyone he’s ever met. He’s also the only person who’s ever hang about after closing time, and taken him out to eat. It was nice. He’s not as handsome as Sanada, but he’s certainly more attentive, and ridiculously funny. The second date was very similar, as was the third. Evil takes him out for dinner to the point that Bushi is very certain that they’re dating. He’d never thought he’d end up dating a customer, but he supposes that makes sense. His customers are the people he spends most time with, the people who spill their guts out to him, the people he’s become closest with, so he guesses it makes sense that he should date one of them.

It takes Evil one more date to ask Bushi to actually be his boyfriend, not the phrase Evil has used, he’d gone for a smoother _partner_. His smoothness had fallen away when Bushi had agreed, and he’d ended up scooping him up and spinning him around like a fool, then giving him a piggyback ride home. Bushi hadn’t complained. He likes being up high. The counter is higher than the customer side for a reason.

Naito pokes his head under the curtain, beaming at Bushi. He ushers a very clearly drunk Hiromu to their spot in the corner of the counter. Hiromu perches on his stool, and wobbles precariously. Naito scrambles over to him, and plasters himself to Hiromu’s back. His arms flank him, holding him up by grabbing the counter.

“Be careful.” Naito mutters to Hiromu, and turns to Bushi. “The usual, please.” Naito’s smiling, a smile that’s Bushi’s never seen. Bright and delighted. It’s a far cry from the sullen salaryman he was before Hiromu.

“I’d like some tea…maybe some water…” Hiromu’s slurring, and singing slightly. He’s wobbling on his stool, bouncing lightly off Naito’s arms, a silly smile on his face as he sways from side to side.

“You’ll fall if you don’t sit still.” Naito rests his chin on Hiromu’s shoulder stilling him, that bright smile still on his face. Naito says something quiet to Hiromu, and laughs at him when a brilliant blush floods over Hiromu’s cheeks. Bushi keeps his attention on his work, not wanting to be distracted by what appears to be the tail end of a drunken first date.

“Oh! Hey Evil!” Drunk Hiromu is apparently a very cuddly creature. Evil looks very confused by Hiromu clinging to his neck. Evil hands him back over to Naito, and leans over the counter to plant a kiss to Bushi’s cheek. “You’re dating?” Hiromu sounds slightly less drunk, and is now snuggling back against Naito. Naito is cocooning him in his arms to keep him in place on the stool once more.  

“Yes. Are you eating more, or is he finally taking you home?” Evil rests his chin in his hand. He’s wearing an amused little half-smile, which dissolves into a laugh when Naito ducks his head, hiding his face against Hiromu’s hair. Hiromu squirms slightly, looks embarrassed, until he cackles at whatever Naito said to him. They leave about an hour later. Naito holding Hiromu close, either to keep him up or simply to keep him close. It’s nice to have witnessed the change in Naito since meeting Hiromu. He hopes that meeting Naito has been good for Hiromu too. He’s not complained about his lack of inspiration recently, so Bushi assumes that they’re good for each other.

Evil takes the vacated corner spot. He’s watching Bushi with a fond smile. When Bushi’s not actively cooking, he ends up standing beside him, smiling like a fool. His regulars have been pointing out how much more cheerful he’s seemed lately. The general bustle at the stand seems much happier recently too. He’s not sure if that’s because _he’s_ happier, or if there’s something else different. Honestly, it’s probably both. Evil snags his collar, and pulls him down into a kiss. His stupid smile is stupider, he is _much_ happier, and the something else that’s different is that he’s in love.


End file.
